Dear Sun,
I’m glad you exist, but we need to talk.
I spent a week at the beach but DELIBERATELY tried to avoid you. You may have noticed that I’m a white girl. Very white. Milky even. And I try to stay that way.
I’m married to and have birthed brown people. Go hang out with them. They love you and have no adverse effects.
I, however, am traumatized by my experiences with you.
Remember how you harassed me in the Dominican Republic when I tried so hard to escape you? I was in the shade of a building, wearing sunscreen, a one-piece bathing suit AND a cover up. Somehow I still got burned. On my stomach. (For real.)
There are two kinds of people who go to the beach: People who want to “lay out” to worship you and people like me, who enjoy the scenery and experience but need a cave.
Here are examples of the first:
And here’s my cave:
My chair is the one completely in the shade.
Here’s a lady who is in the second category but thinks she is in the first. (Lily White is going to be in so much pain.):
And here’s a velvet bikini, because I didn’t know such things existed:
Anyway, despite my best efforts, you attacked me again. My arms and chest are red. HOW? The only time I emerged from my shady haven was to visit the loo.
I probably should have set up camp UNDER the pavilion like these people:
Now I need aloe.
Thanks so much, friend.
Warm SPF 100 wishes,
Beth
Observe and report 
Leave a Reply